It’s been almost one year since my dad got sick with encephalitis and subsequently was diagnosed with dementia. One year since coming back to Denver for the first time and putting our lives, goals, and dreams on hold. One year of survival, mental breakdowns, experiencing some of the deepest levels of anxiety and depression, churning family dynamics, grief, housing insecurity, and complete uncertainty.
Yes, it’s been a destabilizing year for most of us, but when I put my losses into words I can see their magnitude and feel the full weight of it all. I put this post down and pick it up again weeks apart because it’s hard to look at. Maybe you’ve lost some things too, welcome. There is space for all of us to hold each other’s grief.
I didn’t want to quantify my grief this way, but it was a suggestion from my sponsor. See, grief and I have this tricky past, culminating with the loss of my mom over ten years ago. When I went into that depression I had very few tools or knowledge of how to get out. The trauma of that experience has made it hard for me to want to get reacquainted with grief this time around. Like I mentioned in my last post, I’ve been reading a lot of sad memoirs and I think it’s a way for me to get adjacent to grief without going to the deep end.
I think I’m done camping out adjacent to and am finally able to dive into my own grief experience. (Also, if you’re not into this sort of sad stuff or if it triggers you in any way, skip past this post – I promise I’ll eventually get back happier times in my writing, this too shall pass)
So in no particular order, here are my Covid losses:
Community, leaving Denver by choice but then getting stuck in this sort of nomad hell with no lifeline or way out. Loss of income about six months ago that complicated things immensely and made our lives get really small. It’s dehumanizing and demoralizing. It makes people uncomfortable so my community got smaller.
Loss of a dream, a life in Guatemala, other dreams on hold, loss of the capacity to dream because sometimes that is just too tiring to think of. Loss of creative energy or the ability to “figure it out” on the fly like I once did.
Loss of a business and a business partner, I did not get a say in this matter and that still stings a lot.
Loss of a parent. Yes my dad is still here and I am making the best of it, no I can’t call him up and say what I sometimes need to say to my father. I’ve gained a toddler in some respects with regard to his mental capacity. (Fun AND challenging)
Loss of autonomy. Choices got whittled down, decisions were made from a perspective of loss and lack. While I’m so grateful to have the closest circle to fall on and hold me back up, I also want to be able to make my own decisions again, have my own space again, sleep in my own bed again, do things my quirky way without needing an explanation.
Loss of sanity, security, health, stress weight and hair, I’m putting it all down so yeah, hair gets listed too.
This is another one of those posts that can’t get wrapped up with a bow. Grief is messy, unfolding, sometimes all encompassing. I will say that I’m getting a lot of support from the following; therapy, being outside and walking everyday (even when it’s dark and cold and I don’t want to), from daily CBD use, from moving my body with Pilates and with toddlers (real ones, not my dad), drinking water, making dinner, and asking for what I need from my people. I’m not done with my grief, but saying it out loud and sharing it like this helps me move through it, explore it in a less scary way. Thanks for coming along with me.
The Writings of Breanne Mashek 